Delta Force Desire (19 page)

He stroked a strand of hair behind her ear, taking in her words.

“Am I safer with you globetrotting around the world, or am I safer with you at my side, protecting me, with us protecting each other? When we're together, we're amazing, and I feel safe. It's being apart too much that scares me.”

He hadn't thought about it in those terms. “Together. How would it work? How could I do my work out in the world and you do yours in an office?”

She stroked the side of his face. “We could travel together. Take on missions together. When we need to be apart, it won't be for long. I told you once before I love you, and I'll love you enough for the both of us.”

Griffin kissed her. He loved her. He knew it with every fiber of his being. “You won't have to do that. I love you, Kit.”

Tears filled her eyes. “You love me?”

“Isn't it obvious?”

She threw herself into his arms and kissed him. “I needed the words.”

“And now that you have them and me?”

“We'll work something out together. Together will always be our right answer.”

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
A SEAL TO SAVE HER
by Karen Anders

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A SEAL to Save Her

by Karen Anders

Chapter 1

Northern
Plains,
Parwan Province, Afghanistan

A
hike into hell was a walk in the park for Lieutenant Junior Grade Dexter Kaczewski and his small team of SEALs. The rhythm, the heat and the years of working together made the first part of the trip rather surreal. Everything working perfectly. Dex checked to make sure all of his men were together. Nine ninja gunslingers, armed to the teeth, invisible. Without night vision, no one could see death approach.

After the UH-60M, a sleek, state-of-the-art Black Hawk, had set them down, the almost-silent blades vibrating the air with a faint
whop-whop
, Dex had crouched as they piled out of the opening, his heartbeat in his ears. When his feet were firmly on the ground, he'd waited for the dust to settle from the big UH-60M and the world to stabilize after the helos had lifted off. All the guys checked in through their radios, and Dex had signaled the “all go” for the jaunt.

They were going in looking for three marines abducted only twenty-four hours ago. They were part of the force currently training the Afghan Armed Forces.

This was a TST, or time-sensitive target, as SEALs categorized these missions. Which pretty much meant they'd play it by ear and make it up as they went, especially once they hit the dirt. The intel was solid and Dex's superiors figured that a small group of nine members of SEAL Team Three, Task Unit Trident, Bravo Platoon, were enough to do the job.

Hoo-rah!

“The village is completely dark. No movement in the target area,” Wicked said through the com. Damian “Something Wicked This Way Comes” Merrick, or “Wicked” for short, was a lean, mean fighting machine, primary breacher, who handled all mechanical and explosive entries, and primary heavy gunner. He also had this uncanny ability to see things that weren't normally visible. He'd once saved a whole squad from an ambush just because he'd spotted one stone overturned.

“No enemy with guns who want to shoot us? That's a shame,” DJ said with a short laugh. Jerry Sanders, the resident comedian and the best damn communication and air controller in the business, got his moniker legitimately. Back in the States, Jerry had been a radio DJ before his service.

Dex's vigilance, heightened by his night-vision goggles, showed every detail in the green environment before him. The village in the distance was their destination. They had been flown in by helicopter and dropped off, or “inserted,” about eleven kilometers away and were currently tiptoeing their way to the medium-size village that was waiting for them in dark shadows with unknown assailants.

As Dex led them to the final delay point, they had about five minutes to rest and reset for the final push and eventual assault. As he looked around, he realized they were in a cemetery. Several graves were fresh, and after counting over ten new digs, DJ stopped and leaned over to Dex. “LT, hopefully this isn't a zombie movie or we're toast,” he deadpanned. On the team, “LT” was the universal nickname for all officers in charge and stood for
lieutenant
.

Dex laughed. “Don't worry, DJ. Your brain doesn't even make a meal.”

“Not even a snack,” Reindeer said, and all of them chuckled.” Rudolf “Reindeer” Abt served more than just one role. He was their very gifted corpsman—a medic—but he was also a lethal sniper.

“Mmm, brains,” DJ said in a deep, gravelly, zombie voice.

“Kennedy,” Dex said softly. Kennedy was already up and moving toward the walls and getting eyes on the compound. Tyler Keighley was Dex's best friend on the team, his point man and lead sniper. He hailed from a political family, which was how he got his Kennedy nickname. They were in tune with each other. When Spaceman—Mike Carver, his current ridge boss and chief of his operations—retired after this op, Dex was considering Kennedy as his replacement. He was smart, resourceful and spoke his mind.

Speaking of minds, it seemed his men could read his. These guys were so well trained and worked so well together. Nolan “Minnesota” Quade was one of the nicest men he'd ever met until he was on a mission, then one of the meanest, a breacher and sniper. Roger “Green Bean” Deeds and Peter “Slim Jim” Camden rounded out the group. Kennedy gave Dex the all clear, and he motioned everyone onward. They moved like ghosts from the graveyard, right on schedule.

After Kennedy entered, Dex poked his head in to check the progress. The compound was empty and something started to itch, a combat itch that was giving Dex a momentary warning to get the hell out of there, but he felt that most of the time he was on a mission. It was most likely the feel of close and present danger. On cue, Wicked said, “Sir, I don't like this. It's too quiet.”

“Anything concrete?”

“No, sir. Just a gut feeling.”

“Your gut is outranked this time. One of those marine kids belongs to a one-star. We're going in, but keep your eyes open.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Normally, he would heed Wicked's call, but the one-star, General Seth MacDonald, had some pull and Dex knew how the military worked. The general would do everything in his power to rescue his son, even chew on some brass. Still, he'd never liked the sensation of having the grim reaper breathing down his neck. They entered single file, heading for the outlying buildings. After a quick search, Dex sent Kennedy, Minnesota and Slim up a ladder to snipe any baddies from the rooftop.

After ten minutes the compound was secured, but that only made Dex even more uneasy. There was no one here. No sleeping women or children, no old men. No one. He glanced at Spaceman and his look said he felt it, too.

“You want to abort?” he asked Spaceman. He and Spaceman had done extensive research on this village, situated just before the Pakistani border. The most likely place they were keeping his brothers in arms was a building in the middle of the village, forcing them to secure three large buildings on the east side to block any egress to Pakistan. If they ran, it would be across open ground.

He stood there for a moment, obviously torn between getting the marines out or leaving them to their fate. The pressure from the brass was as heavy as a fifty-caliber gun. Dex didn't give a damn about flak from the top. He was here in the field and the decision was his. That's why he got the big lieutenant bucks. Saving those marines was their mission, but he had to weigh the level of threat to his team. Leaving the marines to die didn't sit well with either of them. Spaceman had a kid the same age as one of the marines. Spaceman's eyes traveled around to make sure he had his finger on the pulse of this op.

“Let's get those boys and go home,” Spaceman said. This would be his last deployment, and Dex guessed he wanted to go out with a win.

Dex motioned for Wicked, who was right behind him, meeting his dark, steady eyes. The man would go into hell if Dex ordered it, but he wasn't bashful about speaking up. It was clear the guy was getting the heebie-jeebies from this op.

“Sir...”

“Noted, Wicked. Get ready to breach the main building.”

Wicked took a breath. “Wicked,” Dex said, order in his voice.
“Breach.”

He delayed only a second. Reluctance in each word, he said, “Yes, sir.”

Dex leaned in, listening for harsh language or suppressed shooting, and heard nothing. The walls were sixteen feet high and looked rather new—well, newer than two thousand years old, like the last operation's buildings. The gate was quite new—he thought maybe forty years old. How nice to see an upward trend in development in this war-torn country.
He motioned to Wicked.

“Fire in the hole,” Wicked said, and they moved a safe distance. The C-4 Wicked had attached to the door exploded when he set the charges off, and the door flew back and over their heads. As the smoke cleared, they started moving inside. Time always slowed for Dex when he was in combat, and everything seemed to pop out at him in Technicolor. Through the eerie green glow, he saw the bodies slumped in the corner.

The three marines.

Reindeer, the medic, was already moving, and Wicked said into the com, “This bites, sir.”

Spaceman replied, “Ditto.”

Dex knew the moment he saw them, and that itch intensified. Wicked swore low and vehemently.

“Dead...uh, LT...recently,” Reindeer said, his voice full of the anger and frustration they all felt. “All of them head shots.”

That's when all hell broke loose.

“LT! Bug out! Bug out! They're everywhere. Ambush!” Kennedy shouted through the com.

But his warning was a split second too late. Gunfire ripped into the room as Dex and the other SEALs hit the deck. Heated pieces of lead bounced and whizzed everywhere. Spaceman cried out in agony and another SEAL, Green Bean, was already there, slinging him onto his back. Without a word, the three of them—Dex, Wicked and Reindeer—each shouldered one of the dead marines into a fireman's carry. The remaining SEALs returned fire. No words were spoken, but they were all in agreement.
Never leave a man behind.

DJ was shouting into the radio, calling in the current cluster and getting the helos there on the double for extraction. Kennedy's voice exploded on the com again. “RPGs! Freaking RPGs.”

Dex could hear the rapid fire of their rifles in the open com. Damn, rocket-propelled grenades. Not good. “Haul ass!” he yelled.

They cleared the door as an explosion rocked the building, dust and debris flying around. More automatic gunfire as Dex turned with the marine still across his shoulders, pointed his weapon and opened fire, cutting down the bodies in pursuit.

Dex raced for the open compound gate and could see the helos landing a klick from his position. Running straight out, he deposited the marine into the waiting chopper along with the other two and the wounded Spaceman. But men were MIA. “Kennedy! DJ! Slim! Minnesota!” Dex yelled into the com, reacting from the adrenaline. But there was no answer.

Dex turned and ran back toward the compound and saw them pinned down. They were outgunned and outmanned, but he and his fellow SEALs never hesitated. Opening fire, Dex cut down the enemy to the left and Reindeer and Green Bean took care of the enemy to the right. Dex shouted, “Move it!”

Kennedy didn't budge until DJ, Minnesota and Slim reached Dex, laying down covering fire. “Kennedy!” Dex shouted, ten pounds of adrenaline drop-loading into his system.

Kennedy broke from cover and Dex and his men opened fire to cover his retreat. He reached Dex and they all turned for the big UH-60. Dex heard the whistle of the RPG, felt pressure and saw a flash as it exploded, the concussion knocking him off his feet, an excruciating pain slamming into his rib cage and waist. All of them were blown backward.

Dex hit the ground hard, dazed. Through the smoke and dust, he saw the others all lying so still. His head ringing, nausea twisting in his gut, he lurched to his feet, crying out at the sharp cut of agony in his side, his hand automatically going there, feeling the blood-soaked fabric. He stumbled over to them, falling to his knees. A second Black Hawk landed and marines poured from the open door. Dex slipped his hands under Kennedy's prone, unmoving form, his heart pumping hard, his body on autopilot. Ignoring the agony in his side, he lifted Kennedy—
ah, dammit, Tyler
—as men surrounded him. He lurched to his feet and started for the helo as the wet, warm blood of his friend and comrade coated his hands and soaked into his uniform.

He made it to the door; hands were reaching for Kennedy as Dex's knees buckled and he dropped. Someone caught him and hauled him into the chopper.

He grabbed at the medevac guy's uniform. “Don't you leave anyone behind,” he shouted.

“Relax, sir. We got you covered,” he shouted above the return gunfire from the advancing rescue team and the insurgents, growling engine and whirling blades.

He turned his head as someone ripped at his shredded body armor and clothing, exerting pressure to his side, making him cry out against the burning, rippling torment ripping through his body.

“
Don't
you die on me,” he whispered. “Don't you
die
, Tyler.” His jaw clenched as the agony of his wounds melded with his mental anguish. His vision started to narrow and dim as the slashing pain intensified until tears blinded him. He turned his head, kept his eyes on Kennedy's face—Tyler's face—as he felt the helo lift and watched as pooled blood ran in rivulets to the open door.

Watched until he was pulled down into a tormented darkness.

Copyright © 2016 by Karen Alarie